Dark Horses
by LittleRedMare
Summary: "What was that saying about pictures? That they stayed the same, even when the people in them changed. Not that Paul had changed. He had died." Quinn's life had almost returned to normal after the death of her brother, but two Saints are about to change that. NEW.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Boondock Saints! I've been gone for a long time, I apologize… and even worse (or maybe better?) I decided to overhaul this whole thing and start over! This story deals with horse racing, so if you need any terms defined let me know!

She couldn't stop running. He was right there ahead of her, just within reach but it wasn't enough to catch up. The closer she got the further he moved away, with that sneering smirk on his face as though nothing was wrong, as though he wasn't in danger of being taken from her forever… The landscape was changing from the deserted hallways of some abandoned building that seemed eerily familiar to a flat open rock face. Her legs ached and her lungs burned with effort as she pushed herself faster, she couldn't let him get away, not this time. She couldn't lose him again, she was so close… With that frustrating sarcastic smile he reached his hand out towards her and with a final ragged breath she lunged forward, fingertips brushing his as the earth opened up and they plummeted over the edge of a cliff, falling effortlessly into oblivion but he was gone, swallowed up by the darkness, yet still she screamed his name.

Until she jerked awake, just as if she had dropped from the sky and landed in a plush queen sized mattress with a pile of twisted blankets, pillows, and sheets. With a deep shaky breath she tried to slow her racing heart, and remind herself that once again, it was only a dream. Almost the same as the ones she had been having since he died, becoming less frequent within the past few months, but just as awful when they did come back. She blinked owlishly, trying to rub the glowing red after image of the alarm clock numbers from her eyes. This was going to kick her ass when she had to get up for work... In three hours. Great. A pair of amber eyes peered at her from the tangled covers, annoyed at being awoken. She sighed dramatically at the big tabby cat as it hopped off the bed and stalked off into the other room, flicking its tail disdainfully at her.

"Well excuse me for waking _you_ up," she groaned. There was no going back to sleep just lying there, and the room was unbearably hot. Only a month into the summer and it had been brutal; hot, muggy, and still every day and night. She hauled herself out of bed and followed the cat into the living room.

The reading lamp that she flicked on cast eerie shadows over everything. Other than that, the room was exactly the same as it was in broad daylight. Couch. Chair. TV. Bookshelf. Pictures.

She loved pictures, had filled her apartment with them. Snapshots of memories, framed and arranged on walls, shelves, and tables. She glanced up at the ones over the couch, placed in dark wood frames to match the décor of the room. She was a pretty good interior designer, if she said so herself.

The first one was of a horse, completely covered in mud, the mire dripping from his body and that of the jockey who sat on her, holding the reins taut. Quinn stood at the horse's bridle, trying to keep her still long enough to take the winner's circle picture, struggling mightily but grinning hugely. The typed in caption next to the photography business's logo proclaimed "Telamarkk. Owned by Quinn Smecker, Rode by Chris Hallowell Time: 1:27."

Her first win with her first horse. She wished the picture underneath it made her as happy. Especially after her dream.

It was summertime, and they were both smiling. The boy was taller and thin, his shirt plastered to his body from her wet hair, his own hair blond and shaggy, hanging in his eyes. Their grins were impossibly wide, hers train tracked with braces. It was family reunion camp, an annual necessary evil of their childhood. She had just gotten back from a swim in the lake and had decided to give her dry clothed brother a soaking wet hug. His arm was slung around her shoulders, a rare moment of sibling harmony. _So long ago_, she thought sadly. What was that saying about pictures? That they never changed, even when the people in them did.

Not that Paul had changed. He had died.

In school everyone had thought he was an arrogant prick. Later on, she heard the same consensus from his colleagues. He was always quick to condescendingly point out the right answer, always the smart ass, lording his intelligence over his peers with his razor sharp wit, whose comments could make family gatherings a comedy routine, or tear apart anyone who rubbed him the wrong way. Quinn was embarrassed to hear the brutally nasty things he said to people, but she understood. Behind closed doors, away from school and to some extent away from his family, Paul was the most self conscious person she had ever known. He worried constantly about his appearance, his grades, his weight.

His sexuality.

She had always known; it seemed like everyone had. Other kids whispered and teased, trying to humiliate him in front of the class, spreading vicious rumors. People would make fun of him to her face, hissing slurs as they passed by them walking home from school.

"What's it like Quinn, havin' a brother who's a fag?" The boys would laugh. She always stood up for him. Sometimes Paul appreciated her loyalty, whispering a quiet thank you when they passed each other in the hall at home on the way to their rooms before bed. Other times he was just as much a prick to her as everyone else. She tried to understand that he was scared, and she did feel sorry she couldn't make it easier for him. And sometimes she hated him for the things he said and the way he acted.

He was convinced no one understood him, that nothing was fair. The horses that their parents bought Quinn to care for and compete with disgusted him and were a waste of money and time. The little hometown they had grown up in was too small for someone of his importance and uniqueness, and that he was destined for bigger and better things. He talked all the time of different places that were better, more exciting, more high class. Sometimes she liked to imagine travelling there with him. More often, she got sick of listening to him talk about it. He had grand plans of going away to college, someplace big and expensive and most importantly far away. He looked down on local schools that Quinn applied to, though he denied ever looking down on her for going to the community college. It didn't matter that she dropped out after a year to race horses. No matter how disappointed her parents were in her career choice, Paul had already ruined his relationship with them, even when he graduated with an impressive GPA and got a job with the FBI.

Dad had died years ago, and Mom didn't speak to Paul. Hadn't spoken to him in a year or more before he was killed.

The funeral had been surreal, some of his colleagues spoke, and she was surprised they could come up with anything nice to say. She hated herself for the thought, but she knew it was true. Mom was silent, tears slipping down her cheeks quietly, quickly wiped away by her sleeve. Regret hung heavy in the air, and it hurt almost as much as the tension that used to be there when Paul and Mom were in the same room. Quinn couldn't cry. There was nothing left.

Because no matter what had happened before and how things were now, the feeling was the same.

She missed Paul. So fucking much.

She wasn't even sure how it happened. They had told her, but nothing seemed right about it. Gunshot wound to the head, they said. Killed in the line of duty, at the scene of a crime that hadn't been cleared, some gang member still hanging around to tamper with evidence. Maybe it was because she had been denying it so vehemently that it hadn't made sense to her. Maybe it was because of the closed casket. The coroner had said the face was mutilated, and denial was better than seeing anything that terrible. Or maybe it was because a week before, he had called her.

Four a.m. and her phone had torn her out of sleep and she was instantly pissed. With a snarl she had snatched her cell off the night stand and blinked at the name flashing on the screen.

Paul.

"What the fuck Paul it's four in the morning!" She had growled into the phone.

"Quinn Bee…" his voice was slurred and she had rolled her eyes. Drunk. Again.

"Yeah Paulie?" He hated his nickname, but she hated hers too. Her brother almost giggled on the other end.

"I fuckin' found religion!" he had laughed even harder at this, his voice still leering and sarcastic, though obviously inebriated.

"Yeah right. Where are you?"

"Church, I just told you, I wish you'd listen for once…" he trailed off. Quinn waited, and sure enough he had continued on. "See I had this whole problem. I like my job Quinn. Because there are bad people out there, and you don't know it, but there are. Terrible fuckin' people. But I caught them and I put them behind bars and I lived in this illusion that I was making the world a better place…" he had coughed and fumbled with his phone, then picked back up just as she thought he had passed out. "But I met these boys Quinn… and they do more good than I ever have..."

Her mind foggy from just being woken up she hadn't known what he meant and had interrupted. "Paul I really don't want to hear about you and some boys-"

"They kill people, but only bad people," he continued, apparently not having heard her interruption. "I can only get people in jail, and even then they don't end up going… bail, lesser sentences, it's bullshit Quinn. All my hard work and these murdering bastards just walk…" his voice mumbled and she strained to hear, because as soon as she heard "they kill people" she was instantly alert.

"Did they hurt you? Paul where are you? Can you get here?" Her brother made a disgusted noise in his throat.

"Never fucking listen do you..." she could almost see him sneering on the other end and she had bristled, but his voice continued to flow over the line, continuing his story.

"They've killed criminals all over Boston, because God told them too, and I'm supposed to catch them… But they're good men Quinn. They're good people, and they're doing everyone a favor…" he trailed off and she sighed.

"I don't know Paul, if they kill people, they can't be good." Might as well play along she had thought. It wasn't like he'd remember this in the morning.

"You've just never seen things Quinn… You never went out into the world and saw what's out here…do you trust me?" She sighed, because he was right, she didn't know anything about the world, had never gone far from where she was now, and even drunk off his ass, she did trust him.

"Yeah Paulie… I do."

"They're good men, wouldn't hurt any innocent person, I promise…" He had sounded startlingly sober in that last sentence, like he had realized something, but she had no idea what it was and she was already starting to fall back asleep, even before he had clicked to disconnect them.

If they were good men that her brother had been with, why was her brother dead?

She sighed and traced a finger down the edge of the frame. He looked so happy and carefree in this one, how she liked to remember him. It was a rare memory, and she quietly thanked their mother for snapping the picture. Paul, her quiet, awkward big brother, so shy and unsure of himself away from the eyes of everyone else. They had always been so close. And now he was gone.

BANG.

She yelped and jumped back, legs slamming into the coffee table and making her stagger to regain balance. It was just the screen door, but try telling her jackhammering heart that…

Because the only way the screen door slammed like that was if someone was in the entryway to come up the stairs to her second floor apartment. And she couldn't think of anyone who would want to pay a visit at around 3 a.m. One of the wooden stairs creaked quietly under someone's weight. A frozen vice clamped around her stomach and her pulse roared in her ears, she could feel it surging through her and her breath came in short gasps. She needed to hide, because someone was coming.

Its feet lumbered up the steps slowly, in some attempt to be quiet. She couldn't move. It was as if every muscle in her body was numb, her mind screamed at her limbs to move, to scrabble back into the bedroom and hide, but they would not answer, and time slowed down as she tried to calm herself enough to think, how do you make your own arms and legs move? Her mouth was painfully dry, still trying to scream something, anything, but the pressure on her chest made it impossible.

It was still coming. It finally reached the top step, just in front of the door. Uncertainly it shifted back and forth, its shadow moving slowly through the detailed glass, making it impossible to see who it was.

Tap. Tap.

It was knocking. Some demonic ghost or mass murderer or terrible thing on the other side of her door had the decency to knock first.

What the fuck.

The knocking stopped, and the thing traced its hand down the wood, finally grasping the handle. Every single nerve stood on end, and every sense was needle sharp, she swore she could hear it breathing, or maybe it was her own ragged gasping, still trying to make a sound. The door knob turned slowly and the door creaked out, swinging into the apartment as it opened. She whimpered, mouth still agape, trying to make a noise… _Just scream, just scream and someone will come help you…_

"Quinn?"

The figure stepped further into the light and the sudden ferocity of the scream ripping out of her throat terrified her even more, because this was not supposed to happen. Everything grieving families hoped and prayed and dreamed to be true did not just come walking through their doors as if nothing had ever changed. But everything had changed and she didn't know him, as she scrabbled backwards to get away, blind with terror and not understanding what was happening or where she was going, throat shredded raw with her screams as he darted across the room to her, slapping a hand over her mouth and grabbing her shoulders. He shook her and she struggled to get away because this was not real, because Paul was dead, so it couldn't be him staring her in the face, telling her to stop screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the review! Here's take two of chapter two… I didn't add much to this chapter, sorry it's still short.**

"QUINN! SHUT UP!" The slap was sudden and loud, stinging against her cheek, and though he moved his hand away as soon as it hit, she swore she could feel the burning outline of his fingers and palm on her face. It was all too familiar. And just like that the scream died in her throat, and she remembered a stupid little fight from their teenage years, racing through her mind like a movie.

"I can't even believe you right now! I'm the only one who says anything to stick up for you, and you're so fucking nasty to me!"

"Why don't you quit being a selfish bitch, Quinn! Do you want a fucking award every time you defend me to someone?"

"You know what I should say next time? I'll just lie. It's great! I love having a brother like you! We can talk about guys together, you're not an embarrassment to Mom and Dad, you have so many friends-"

She had been pushing him. She was hurt and she wanted him to feel it, to lash out with cutting words that would tear at everything he was already so torn up about. She had known what was coming, but she couldn't stop herself, spewing out words, just sounds and letters that combined into hateful, angry sentences, with meanings that made his eyes soften with the glimmer of what? Tears? Then abruptly harden and flash with hate. He had screamed at her as he drew back his hand.

"QUINN! SHUT UP!"

And then he had swung out, and slapped her. Just like now.

She opened her eyes slowly, just like last time, tears piling up and spilling over her lashes, and she was back in the present. His face was close to hers, the same face, her Paul, years older and much more tired than that fight so long ago. It was so stupid. Their childish fights, when she had hated him so badly, and after he had left… since she supposed she couldn't say "died"… she had wished so hard she could've taken all those hateful words and feelings back.

She choked and gasped, still crying and not knowing why. And then it ripped through her. She had thought he was dead. She had grieved for him, missed him so much. He had lied to her, and their family. Had let them grieve and go through that loss. Then he had showed up at her home, scaring her half to death. And he had the balls to slap her, and tell her to shut up.

Anger.

"Shut… up…?" She whispered, looking up at him. He rocked back onto his heels, still squatting in front of her, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, smoothing it back into place. This time, he knew what was coming.

"Shut… up…?" The words were stronger this time, boiling up in the back of her throat, like a dam about to burst. And it did.

"SHUT UP!" She swung out blindly, trying to connect, just bash his fucking face in. He scrambled back, grabbing at her wrists and holding them tightly. She struggled savagely, twisting to pull away, just get one fist free and pummel it into his nose…

But she was tired, and his hands were crushing her wrists, and she wasn't getting anywhere. And, deep down underneath it all, she was glad to have her brother back. She slumped in defeat, cooling just as quickly as she had ignited. What the hell were you supposed to feel when someone came back from the dead? Relief? Happiness? Confusion? They tumbled through her body, exhausted from the draining adrenaline rush and she felt sick.

"Still a pistol I see," he murmured, smiling humorlessly.

"I can't believe you Paulie," she sighed.

"I'm sorry. But I had too."

xxxx

Coffee was the last thing she wanted this early in the morning. Really she just wanted to crawl back in to bed, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep if she did. She closed the lid on the coffee maker with a sigh, settling her mug on the small platform beneath and pressing the button. She yawned sleepily as the liquid poured out into the cup, steam curling and wafting away above the brim. Across the room, the tip of Paul's cigarette glowed, and the scent of tobacco smoke filled the kitchen.

She wanted to tell him to smoke outside.

But he was alive.

She hadn't lost her brother. He was right there with her, sitting at the kitchen counter, with his khaki pants and one of his cleanly pressed dress shirts, the sleeves rolled up and cuffed at his elbows. Before, when he had come to visit, she would get pissed off and tell him to smoke out in the entryway. She kept her apartment spotlessly clean, and she wouldn't have it smelling like cigarettes. But there was a weary acceptance, because it was so like Paul to not give a fuck what anyone wanted, and to light up anywhere he pleased, and she had missed everything about him.

She absentmindedly raked her fingers through her hair as she stirred sugar and creamer into the freshly brewed coffee. Paul smirked over the rim of his mug.

"A perm, Quinn? You look like a fucking hippie."

She smiled slightly. So typical of her bitchy older brother, some things never changed.

"I thought it looked better then pin straight. Wanted something different I guess."

"Eh. A little 'Woodstock', if you ask me. But really. You look good."

So this was what it was like when a family member came back from the dead. Nothing to talk about, but everything to say. Quinn peered at her brother, still smirking around his cigarette.

"So…" she started. He held up a hand.

"I know, I know. My time to explain." She leaned against the counter in front of him as he took a generous swig of the coffee. Not the latte he preferred, but it would do.

"As far as you know, I'm still dead. Alright? If anyone asks, your brother is dead," he said sternly, eyes boring into her own. She tucked a dark curled strand behind one ear.

"Why?"

"I'm getting to that. Look. You remember the night I called you." She nodded.

"Well those two boys... I had to help them. So I did. And it made me the target of some… unsavory characters shall we say. And I know this. What they're doing is good, Quinn. I want to keep helping them. And for me to do that, I had to do well… this." She raised one eyebrow quizzically. Her brother had faked his own death to help out two vigilante killers. She wanted to be mad, fucking furious really, but she was so damn tired, and truly glad he was okay. She sighed.

"I don't see how it's good… You know. An eye for an eye and all that…" she trailed off. Paul took another deep drag off his cigarette and breathed a plume of smoke out of his smirking mouth.

"Since when did you believe that shit?"

"Well. I guess I really don't."

"Good. So really, why I came here, was because I need your help."

Nothing like feeling a little used she thought. But like every other thing that had happened tonight that she normally would've latched onto and argued to the death over, she let it go. Hope you realize just how much I care about you, Paulie.

"Go on…"

"The boys need a place to stay. Somewhere outside the city, it's too hot there for them right now. Somewhere close enough that they can go back and take care of business, but also somewhere I can keep track of them. So, I thought of here." He leaned back in his chair, as if pleased he had come up with this completely ridiculous idea. This was too far. This one she wasn't letting go.

"So let me get this straight. You want to dump a babysitting job on me. Two murderers. Well thanks. But really… no thanks."

"Quinn. They need to stay here with you. There's no other way."

"Why me? I live in a fucking apartment and I'm gone all day Paul... I'm supposed to be at work in an hour and I won't get back until God only knows when…" She was making up excuses and he knew it. Hell, they were grown men. It wasn't like they needed her to sit there and entertain them all day… right? But Paul wasn't laughing at her excuses. His eyes were hard and cold as he leaned over the counter toward her.

"They're staying here Quinn. I'm not the only one in danger. If anyone even gets the slightest hint that I may be alive, people will be coming for you. Do you understand me? This is the only way I can keep us safe. They'll be here later today." He was pushing his chair back and standing up, his words ringing in her ears with their finality.

That was it. She wasn't safe. Or rather, they weren't safe.

She had gotten her brother back… or had she?

He was at the door, ready to leave and she started towards him as he opened it.

"Wait!" He turned to look at her in surprise as she practically flew across the room to engulf him in a huge hug, stronger than he had thought was capable of her just over five foot frame.

"I really missed you…" she said, head buried in his shoulder. He stiffened awkwardly, because this had never been their relationship. It had always been constant bickering and teasing, only becoming closer with age and maturity.

But he had missed her too. So he looped one arm around her, patting her back.

"I missed you too, Quinn." And then he was out the door and gone, off into the dawn as if he had never been there at all. Quinn stood in there doorway, shivering in the summer morning air, staring down the stairway where his figure had been, trying to decide if everything had really just happened.

With a shrill screech, her alarm clock went off in the bedroom behind her, shattering the peace of her formerly quiet apartment, as the rising sun tinted everything in pinks and golds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews! They definitely push me to keep going, now that I know people are actually reading. ;) **

Was it real? She must've dreamt it all. There was just no other way to explain the last few hours, and Quinn found herself seriously contemplating if she had lost her mind. Somehow she had drifted back to her bedroom and shut off the screaming alarm clock. The emptiness and silence in her apartment was deafening, and she looked around, taking it all in, seeing if anything had changed since her brother had rose from the dead and walked right in, then walked right back out.

They'll be here later today.

Who were they? What were they even like? Where would they stay? She had one spare room, a source of endless bickering with her mother ("Why the hell do you even pay extra for a two bedroom, you don't even need it!") If only she could tell her mother now. Sometimes your formerly dead brother needs to drop off two vigilante killers on you, so it's good to have a guest room.

With a sigh she checked the clock as she scribbled a note with directions to Jude's farm. She knew it would be a long day when she was exhausted before leaving the house. Ten minutes to get to work. That was fine, she was working at the farm today. Her boss, Jude, would be at the track with the other horses so she wouldn't have to explain why she was late. Thank God, because Jude was terrifying, and because if she told him the real reason, he'd probably fire her under the assumption she was on crack. Actually, crack sounded quite reasonable in comparison to everything that had just happened.

Jude Patterson was retired FBI. Tall, graying, with piercing blue eyes and a chain smoker, he was one of the most terrifying people she had ever met. Two years ago he had hired her as a groom for his successful Thoroughbred racing stable, a dream come true for Quinn, a pre-vet major drop out (yet another source of complaint from her mother). He barely spoke and wasn't known for his way with people, but over the years he had come to respect Quinn's work ethic, and had allowed her to work at the farm helping train the yearlings and take care of the broodmares.

If there was one place she loved more than the track, it was Jude's farm. The driveway split half way up the hill, one turning right to the garage and two story farmhouse, the other continuing past it to the barn, a white wooden fence running alongside. Dogs and cats scattered out of the way of her truck as she parked it in front of the stable, its two sliding doors open as if in welcome. Once out of the truck it was a struggle to make a straight path through the three wiggling dogs that were circling around her legs, frantically begging for attention.

"Boys, boys! Settle down!" She laughed, scratching behind ears and patting furry sides as she attempted to work her way to the barn. Behind the white fences, a whole herd of horses shook their heads and whinnied a greeting, impatient to be fussed over. A few of the younger ones kicked up their heels and raced across the pasture, turning on their well muscled haunches to speed back to the barn, full of youthful energy. Quinn admired the view a moment longer, the lush green pastures dotted with colorful shining horses… She had her brother back, and no matter how tired she was, it was a beautiful day.

.xxxx.

Connor and Murphy were exhausted. Not just the didn't-get-to-bed-early exhausted, but completely fucking drained. After the fire fight, after they lost their Da, they couldn't seem to sleep enough. They were hurt. Connor knew it too, knew it hurt Murphy a lot. The younger brother was sleeping fitfully even now, head on Connor's shoulder in the backseat of Smecker's car. Smecker had picked them up, whisked them away before the cops showed up to the Roman's sprawling garden, now a graveyard… where their father died. Dropped them off at some shit motel and left them there for a week, showing up once a day or so to drop off food or cigarettes and reissue the command to not go anywhere. Not that they cared. They didn't want to go anywhere. Hell, they had slept the first two days straight, reliving nightmarish dreams of everything that had happened in their lives up to the grand finale, the garden, the statues of angels ready to carry their father home.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst was the silence. They had always been deeply religious, through everything that had happened, and God had always been a thick welcoming presence in their lives, always there, somehow making himself known. But after Da had left, there was nothing. It scared Connor. He didn't feel anything there anymore, and he knew Murphy felt the same as they had laid awake one night in the motel and the younger, darker twin had asked.

"Do you think He just abandoned us Conn? We carried out His work and failed by losin' Da, and He just… left us?"

And Connor knew that this was where he was to play big brother, to reassure Murph as he had when they were children. But even he had trouble making it sound believable.

"He never leaves Murph, maybe it was just… ya know… He was stronger when we were the Saints. I guess…" He didn't know what to say.

"Yeah, maybe Conn. We're not the Saints anymore."

As they had settled back into their exhausted fitful sleep, they had both tiredly accepted the idea.

They weren't the Saints anymore.

And they had slipped back into their dreams of losing Rocco and Da, and everything they had known before they had been the Saints.

It must have been what Murph was dreaming about because his face softened in his sleep, the same way it had when Da had told them how beautiful heaven was as he was being welcomed in… But then his face went dark again, he shifted and sat up, pulled into wakefulness. He rubbed a hand over his sunken in eyes (which reminded Connor they had barely eaten in… hell how long was it?) and grimaced.

"Are we there yet er what Conn?" He asked softly, voice still gravelly from sleep. Smecker glanced at them both in the rearview mirror.

"Almost, another twenty minutes." Murph groaned.

"Faaaack, I'm starvin', I 'ope she 'as a home cooked meal all ready fer us," he leaned against the window and stared moodily out, taking in the lush green fields so different from the dismal Boston gray. Smecker about choked on his own laughter.

"You boys are in for a surprise if you expect her to feed and baby you. Quinn can't cook to save her life, and I'm warning you, she's a fucking pistol that one."

Connor smirked.

"As long as she's a looker I guess dat'll make up fer it." Murph even smiled at that one, the little sideways smirk from the corner of his mouth. Smecker's eyes flashed in the rearview, meeting Connor's gaze.

"She'll eat you alive," he laughed humorlessly. Murphy's eyes glinted mischieviously, playfully leaning forward.

"Sounds like a good fuckin' time to me…"

"You wait and see then," Smecker said finally. Connor and Murphy just grinned. The summer air was blowing in through the car window, fresh and warm, the sun shining as bright as it could and making the green grass and blue sky almost neon. Da was gone, but no matter how tired they were, they had to admit, it was a beautiful day.

.xxxx.

Smecker ran a hand through his hair, disheveled from the car ride, as he read Quinn's note. Fuck. He had things to do today, and now he had to drive all the way out to some fucking farm and drop the boys off. He crumpled it up and stuffed it into his pocket as the boys stepped through the door, admiring the well kept little apartment.

"Nice place," Murphy remarked, wandering around the open kitchen and living room, admiring different pictures hanging up. A brand new stereo system and TV were nestled into a TV stand that was set back into the wall, the shelves alongside it lined with books and DVDs. Smecker smiled humorlessly.

"Left her those in my will. TV and stereo were fuckin' expensive. I don't think she uses them much."

Murphy smirked as he flopped onto the couch, turning the TV on with a click of the remote.

"No worries, Conn 'n I'll make sure it gets used."

"So, where is she?" Connor asked, studying the three painted horse shoes hung on the door.

"Patterson Farm, on the Sheffield Road, about ten minutes from here according to her note. Saddle up boys." Smecker clicked the power button, shutting the TV off. His sideways grin was met with groans of protest about getting back in the car. "Now none of that, maybe if you're good, Quinn will take you for a pony ride."

.xxx.

Smecker almost dumped the boys out at the end of the driveway when they got to the barn. He was in a hurry, and he had never been one for horses. Huge, stupid, dirty animals that somehow made his sister fall madly in love with them, he couldn't understand it. He turned the car in the wide drive in front of the barn and headed back down toward the road, with one last glance in the rearview mirror and a passing thought of how the two Irish men would be quite fine looking cowboys.

Connor and Murphy exchanged a glance and headed inside. The barn was spacious and cool, the aisle wide and swept clean. Each stall had its own hook and plaque, one bearing the horse's halter, and the other the horse's name.

"STOP IT!" The sharp bark broke the peaceful quiet somewhere down the aisle. Coming around the corner they saw the source, a young woman hosing down an offended looking horse. The rangy yearling had his nose in the air, pulling the lead chain taught over it. His ears flattened against his head and his eyes rolled as he danced around, convinced that the hose was spraying something much more deadly than warm water. The girl's curly dark hair was falling out of the haphazard pony tail she had thrown it in as she moved expertly with the horse, trying at once to hold the uncooperative animal still and rinse the sweat and dirt off its body.

The horse reared back suddenly, front legs curled to his chest and head snaking side to side in a thousand pound animal's form of a temper tantrum. The lead rope sliced through Quinn's hand before she clamped down on it and gave a firm yank. The horse jerked off balance in surprise and came down with a clatter on the cement floor, and Quinn hit the ground unceremoniously with a painful grunt. The young horse stood, legs splayed wide, a look of bewilderment on its face.

Both Murphy and Connor tried to stifle a laugh at the horse and the girl, who was just about to painfully pick herself up off the floor, unaware that anyone had witnessed the incident. Connor was the first to offer his hand.

"Ya need help?"

Quinn looked up into two sets of the bluest eyes she had ever seen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for the reviews, you guys are awesome! Not gonna lie… writing this chapter was about like pulling teeth… hopefully it's not awful to read! I appreciate any feedback (unless you're a jerk, of course.)**

**GrenGren – Sorry my updates take so long, I'm trying to juggle work, school and writing, and trying to figure out where I'm going with this story. Glad to know you're enjoying it!**

**Shivering Tree- Yes, I decided to go back and re-write/overhaul the whole thing! **

**Eris- You know me too well… your demands will be met ;) **

Quinn's gaze travelled up, past the hand with its rough, tattooed fingers extended to her aid, past the further inked skin that covered a muscular arm, her brown eyes raking the Virgin Mary printed on his neck, the unkempt scruff on his strong jaw, and straight into dark circled, sunken in, piercing blue eyes. His sandy hair was untrimmed and tousled, his face somewhere between an apologetic and amused smirk. The one behind him was similarly covered in ink, but his own tattooed hand was over his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter for only a second until he could no longer contain himself… and his sudden burst of cackling echoed through the barn. He stepped forward to offer a second helping hand, trying and failing miserably to regain any sense of seriousness… but the sound was infectious and Connor couldn't stop himself from joining in. The sight of this girl bailing on her ass couldn't be unseen… and Murphy found it pretty fucking hilarious.

Quinn could feel her face burning as she blushed bright red, both embarrassment and anger flushing her cheeks. She glared at them both as they gasped for breath, still offering to help her up and trying desperately to get control of themselves.

"Hey lass, y'alright?" The blond one finally choked out. Their lilting Irish brogue surprised her for a moment, quickly being overtaken by how pissed she was. Quinn pushed herself off the floor and tried to coolly brush off whatever hay or dirt was stuck to the backside of her jeans. The boys let their hands drop awkwardly, Connor wiping his on his pant leg, Murphy running his through his dark hair.

"I'm fine." Quinn snapped, turning to the yearling that had decided to (of course) wait patiently at the end of the lead rope she still held. "I'm guessing you're Paul's friends."

"Aye," said the blond one. "'m Connor, this is m' brother Murphy… really though, y'alright? That was quite tha fall…" Both twins let out an involuntary snicker and Quinn clenched her teeth.

"I said I'm fine!" Her voice was harsh and the darker one, Murphy, held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Jaysus we were jus' offerin' ta help, Ice Queen," he joked. Connor elbowed him.

"C'mon now Murph, no need t' pick on the girl anymore…"

"You two gonna fuckin' laugh about it all day or what?" She spat, tugging on the lead rope and heading out of the barn toward the white fenced pasture. The two men jogged after her, catching up as she was opening the gate, pushing through the herd of curious young horses and unclipping the lead rope. The yearling trotted off to a tasty patch of grass, clearly over the traumatic bathing experience.

"Look… Quinn? We're sorry, we didn' mean t' offend ya… anythin' we can do ta help around here?" Connor offered, frowning apologetically. Her pride still stung from the fall, but she did feel bad about how she had snapped at them... until she glanced at Murphy and saw his amused smirk. Her eyes flashed with anger, meeting his steady gaze, bright blue irises unnervingly taking everything in, her impossibly high cheekbones like Paul's, the few loose curls clinging to her face from the heat, her own plain brown eyes. She looked away, red tingeing her cheeks once again. There was something about him. He wasn't just the darker twin in appearance.

"I'm almost done here, I just have to set out feed for tonight and tomorrow. There's a trailer of hay behind the barn that needs to be unloaded if you wanted to do that." She smirked. Unloading hay sucked. If they wanted to show up and offer help, they were more than welcome to that job. It was the least they could do after laughing their asses off at her. The boys nodded, giving her a quick grin as they sauntered off toward the back of the barn. Murphy glanced back over his shoulder, make sure she was still within ear shot as he elbowed his twin.

"Look at ya Conn, all apologizin' and offerin' help and shite. We're outta that hole fer a day an' yer already chasin' tha first tail ye find."

For the seemingly eight millionth time she felt her face burning. She glared at them and flung the lead rope in a pile by the gate, stalking off back toward the barn. These boys were going to drive her crazy. Especially one of them…

.xxx.

"S'fuckin' hot!" Murphy groaned, straightening and peeling his sweat dampened black t-shirt off. His little used muscles ached as he tossed the bales to the ground and hauled them into the barn, but the ache was satisfying in a way. Connor swiped his face with the front of his own wet shirt, kicking the last bale of hay off the flat bed. His face was flushed with the heat and he soon followed Murphy's lead, tossing his shirt on top of his brother's. Murphy flopped down on the side of the trailer, dangling his legs off the side and squinting out at the view. The sun soaked the landscape with warmth and light, making the white fences that outlined lush green fields even more dazzling and bright. There were a few separate pastures as far as the boys could tell, all connected by a dirt path between them. The biggest one had five horses in it, including the one Quinn had let loose after he had knocked her over. Another slightly smaller field across from it held only three horses. Connor let a low whistle.

"Beautiful place." Murphy nodded in agreement.

"Aye. S'nothin' like Southie," he said quietly, picking at loose strands of hay on the wooden floor of the flat bed. It was just a simple phrase, an observation. But Connor knew what his brother meant. It was nothing they were used too, it was quiet and bright and peaceful. Cars didn't go racing by, people didn't scream in drunken rage in the loft above or below, alarms and sirens didn't go off and shriek through the night. The only quietness that could compare would be on Da's farm in Ireland, and even that damp, gloomy silence was nothing like here. Despite how tired he had been, and how his own muscles ached, out here working was the best Connor had felt in a while. They could stay here. They could rest, and they could heal. Connor pulled out a cigarette and offered them to Murphy, who offered up his lighter.

"Maybe it's better that way."

.xxx.

Quinn sat on the big feed bin, her heels beating a rhythm against its wooden side. She was finished cleaning stalls, finally, and the sea of plastic buckets on the floor around her were all filled with different measurements and mixtures of grain and supplements. Her work was done for the day… except she had to round up two heavily tattooed young men, and head home with them. The thought made her laugh. Most girls wouldn't find that to be a problem.

"Hey." She snapped her head around toward the gruff voice, nearly falling off the feed bin in surprise.

"Jude! I was just setting out feed…" she stuttered, trying to collect the buckets around her. Jude raised one eyebrow and took a long drag off his cigarette.

"I could tell," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke. "What are you doin' tomorrow?" She looked at him quizzically.

"Going to the track to help you?" Jude shook his head, stamping out his cigarette on the cement floor.

"Big spring sale is tomorrow. I've gotta meet with some potential owners, I need you to go," he pulled a well-worn packet of papers out of his back pocket, handing it to her. She held it out gingerly, eyes wide.

"You want me to go to the sale?" She said slowly, turning the packet over in her hands. It was bound with staples down one side, and as she flipped through she could see certain pages had been dog eared, and checks had been paper clipped to them. All the checks were signed. The amount lines were blank.

"I circled everything, and wrote down the max bids. You'll be fine. I brought the six horse trailer and truck home from the track, just stop here and get it in the morning."

"Aye Quinn! We're done unloadin' the hay!" Connor's voice echoed down the barn aisle, he and Murphy coming into view a moment later, shirts in hand. Quinn's eyes found the floor and stayed there as Jude studied them suspiciously. The boys slowed when they saw Jude, quickly pulling their shirts on. Quinn tried to hide the disappointment on her face when the muscles of Murphy's torso disappeared under black cotton.

"Jude… this is Connor and Murphy… they're… friends… of my brother's…" she finished lamely. Great. Her boss showed up ready to trust her with a job he wouldn't let just anyone do, and she blew it within five minutes by apparently inviting two random men to come to his farm. Jude reached for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket and fished one out.

"Jude Patterson," he offered, lighting the smoke and then offering his hand. The twins took turns shaking it. "You boys unloaded all that hay?" They nodded in unison. Jude seemed to think about this with another drag on his cigarette.

"You gonna be around long?" Murphy shot Connor a look, who gave back a raised eyebrow. Murphy nodded subtly. Yet another wordless conversation that only they understood or were a part of.

"Aye, fer as long as Quinn'll have us," Connor smirked her way. She shot Jude a quick glance before intently studying the bucket in her hand.

"I'd like to hire you on. Need some extra hands around the farm here, unloading hay, fixing fences, you know. Maybe help at the track a few times a week as well. Anything you'd be interested in?"

"Sure, whatever ya need," Murphy nodded. Jude flicked an ash off his cigarette and turned to Quinn.

"Sale starts at twelve, better be there early to check out the stock." And with that he was headed out of the barn. Quinn tucked a curl behind her ears, and shoved the folded program into her back pocket, bending over to grab another bucket and handing one to each brother.

"Connor, yours goes in the last stall on the left, Murphy, yours is last stall on the right." Connor headed down the aisle, calling back as he went.

"Christ, known ya fer an hour and y'already got me takin' orders!"

As Murphy took the bucket from her outstretched hand, his unnerving blue eyes met her shy gaze. With a quiet smirk he whispered.

"Didja like what ye saw?"

Funny thing, there was still a lot about that red bucket she hadn't noticed the first time.

.xxx.

Even laden with multiple grocery bags, the boys still laughed and pushed each other around up the steps to Quinn's door. She tiredly pushed it open and stepped out of the way as they rough housed each other through the frame, cursing and calling each other every name in the book, finally resting their heavy loads onto the kitchen counter. Quinn had made it very clear she didn't cook dinner, and had sat in the car in front of the local grocery store as they picked out God only knew what to sustain themselves for a few days. When they had come back out with arms full she had shook her head… how much food did they need? She kicked off her sneakers and settled onto a stool at the counter top, watching them unload the plastic bags. Frozen pizza, chips, white bread, beer, more pizza, more beer…

Murphy pulled open the refrigerator door and pushed around what little Quinn had in there to fit he and his brother's purchases. Quinn gritted her teeth.

"Jaysus Conn would ya look at this shite… Salad and fruit… fuckin' rabbit food!" Connor laughed and made his contribution to the fridge, a twelve pack of some darker than sin beer.

"How do ya survive lass?" He grinned, heading to the living room and collapsing on the couch. In one deft move he snatched the remote from the coffee table and clicked on the TV, already clicking to the menu before it barely had time to turn on. Murphy had abandoned the graveyard of plastic bags on the counter and was already digging around for a pan for one of the frozen pizzas. Quinn glanced at the clock.

"My show's on, switch it to channel ten," she called, rubbing her temples with her fingers. God she was so tired… and irritated. The chattering from the TV sounded nothing like Trackside Live. She looked up to see Connor completely engrossed in whatever was on.

"Um… Channel ten. Anytime now…" she snapped. Connor held up a finger, and Quinn swore her blood pressure rose. Murphy slammed the oven door and pressed start, leaving the empty pizza box on the stove top. He sauntered into the living room and collapsed into the recliner.

"Connor come on, ya can't be serious yer watching this again…"

"Fuck ye, I started watchin' it in tha shit motel, 's a good show!"

"At least ye can't get any more fuckin' stupid ideas from this one," Murphy grumbled. Connor chucked one of the decorative pillows at his brother's face.

"Channel ten…" Quinn seethed from her spot in the kitchen. The brothers paid no attention as they tossed her couch pillow back and forth. _This is the shit that sparks a tri state killing spree. _

"Go ahead, make yourselves at fucking home!" She spat, snatching the empty bags off the counter and shoving them into the trash.

The boys stopped their pillow toss and stared at her. Connor offered a smirk.

"C'mon Quinn, jus' come watch Degrassi an' relax!" Quinn spun to face him and the smirk died off his face. It was funny how the stupid little things always set people off…

"Is there anything else you'd like to take while you're here? Really… was taking my brother not fucking enough for you?" She could feel her voice rising into a shrill octave as her anger spun out of control and she couldn't stop it. She looked from one to the other, taking in the shocked look on Connor's face and coming to meet Murphy's gaze. His blue eyes snapped with anger, a bright sky hue that spat _what the fuck do you want,_ the alpha wolf silently staring her down for dominance. But she was beyond being silenced by merely a look, and she continued to yell, stepping forward as she went.

"I lost my brother for almost two years because of you! Then you show up and take over my house, my job… " The boys stood at the same time, Murphy to move towards her and Connor to stop him.

"Las' I checked yer brother was alive, don' fuckin' tell me about losin' someone," the darker twin's tone was deadly quiet. Quinn took an involuntary step back, brown eyes meeting icy blue, both full of hurt and loss. Connor reached his brother's side and put a hand on his shoulder, both support and to keep him from moving forward. Murphy's gaze never left Quinn.

"Yeah, he is alive, but he's all for making sure you're ok and that you have everything. What about me? I lost my brother, the only person who understood everything we went through growing up, the only person who has always been there for me, and he gave that all up for you! What the fuck made you so special?" She could feel the tears coming behind the rage, and it pissed her off even more, that her voice was breaking and she couldn't stop it, that she was weak enough to let this man's glare make her feel so angry and so self-conscious at the same time.

Behind her the front door opened, and there stood Paul, smart ass grin on his face, hair slicked back, khakis and a button up shirt with rolled sleeves, how she always remembered her big brother, holding two black duffel bags.

"You kids playing nice?"

Quinn spun away as the tears that had been welling up spilled over, not even meeting Paul's questioning gaze as she pushed past him and walked out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

** So I just want to give a HUGE thank you to ErisandDysnomia for all of her help with this story… she is AWESOME! And thank you for all the follows, I truly appreciate it… I'd also appreciate reviews… hint hint. ;) **

She raced down the steps, a quick and steady rhythm, one-two one-two one-two until she hit the pavement at the bottom, took a look around and stopped. There was literally nowhere to go. Down the road? Why bother. She sank down on the bottom step and just sat there, staring at the trees across the street. Her apartment was outside of town, almost out into the country side. She liked it, it was peaceful and private. When she was alone anyway. Another set of footsteps sounded behind her, these ones slower, almost cautious. She didn't even turn her head when Paul took up the space next to her, letting his arms hang off his knees. Quinn was silent.

"You always were good at making friends," he gave her his classic sideways smirk. Once again, she was too tired to even bristle at the sarcastic remark. Or maybe it was because it was Paul who said it.

"You should talk." She sighed back. He dug for a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket and pulled one out.

"Somethin' you want to talk about?" He asked around the smoke he held between his lips. She knew he didn't really want to talk about it. But he was being the big brother, offering to listen.

"Did you ever think of what would happen to me?" He took a speculative drag.

"What do you mean?" He knew what she meant. He just wanted time, time to think of how to say it.

"When you… left. What did you tell yourself about how I would feel?" He let the smoke escape his lips with a loud sigh and turned to look at her, then fixed his gaze to the clouds in the sky.

"Look. I know saying it will never make up for it, but I'm sorry Quinn. It may not make you feel any better, but I thought of you every day. I left you everything I had… I know it wasn't enough, that all my money and belongings couldn't make it any better. I know I hurt you, and that what I did for Connor and Murphy was not fair to you. But I know you Quinn. And I knew that you were strong enough to handle it. And you did." She turned her head to meet his gaze. She didn't know what to say. It wasn't enough, and yet it was more than enough. It still hurt, but she could almost understand. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I know this isn't the best situation. I'm sorry I put you up to this. But they really are good men Quinn, just give them a chance. And they need to stay with you. I don't want anything to happen. You've been through enough." Quinn tried to smile.

"So. I guess it's my turn for an apology." Her brother laughed.

"That'll be a first. People aren't horses Quinnie."

"Trust me I know. They're much more frustrating…" her mind instantly went to Murphy. She could still see his look when she had flipped on him, that dark blue stare, daring her to keep going, alight with what seemed like amusement, as if her ranting was exactly what he wanted her to do… a thrill shot through her at the thought of him looking at her that way. _What the hell is wrong with you, _she chided herself. One glance sideways at Paul and she could tell he knew. His smirk widened.

"Letting Murphy get under your skin a little too much?" She nodded, waving her hand as if it wasn't a big deal.

"I could tell. I understand though..." he took another drag. "Murphy has the kind of face you either want to sit on or smack." Quinn's face reached an all new level of crimson, and even the elbow she jabbed into Paul's side couldn't take away his evil grin.

"Shut up," she groaned.

"Well while you're thinking about that… I'll go tell them you want to talk." And with that he raised himself up off the bottom step and turned to make the climb back up to the apartment. Quinn wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them, closing her eyes as she tried to take in everything. _People aren't horses. _Yeah, no kidding. If they were, she would probably know exactly what to do and say. She barely heard yet another set of footsteps coming down the stairs until they stopped a step or two above her, and she caught the distinct flicking of a lighter. She steeled herself and then turned, fully prepared to face those aggressively beautiful blue eyes…

The eyes that met her were blue, but soft and questioning. Connor. He tucked away the lighter and gave a pull on the cigarette, moving to take a seat next to her as he did so.

"I'm probably going to die of second hand smoke." He looked at her, surprised that she was the first to speak, and laughed. Even Quinn cracked a smile.

"Aye, 'm sure tha'll be 'r fault as well." The way he said it with a smile still didn't hide the truth to it. Quinn looked down at her socks. _Good thing I never left the driveway. _

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean it like that…" Connor silenced her with a vague wave of his hand.

"S'alright lass. I understan' why ya said what ya did. I shouldn't 'ave let Murph go off on ya the way he did, though he did 'ave a point. 'M not lookin' for pity, an' I know you lost yer brother because of us. But we've lost people we loved an' cared about too. An' it was 'r fault they're gone, because of the life we chose. It hangs heavy on both of us, but especially Murph."

Quinn nodded, picking at a frayed patch on her jeans.

"I wanted to apologize to him. He probably hates me." She caught Connor's sideways glance, and his small smirk, as if he knew a secret.

"Nah, he doesn' hate you. Tha's jus' Murphy. Acts firs', thinks later. He'll come around." As if on cue Murphy's voice sounded from up the stairs.

"'Ey you two, hurry up! Pizza's done an' I'm fuckin' starvin'!" Connor flicked an ash onto the pavement, took one more drag, and dropped the cigarette, grinding it into the tar with the toe of his boot. Quinn looked at him questioningly.

"But when will he come around… I mean, what should I do…?" Connor offered her his hand for the second time that day as he stood up, and this time she accepted it. He gave her a grin.

"Whadda I look like, a younger twin cheat sheet?" He let go of her hand, and mussed her hair teasingly. She swatted at him, letting out a laugh as he sprinted up the stairs out of her reach. _Maybe they wouldn't be so bad._

.xxx.

"But where will you stay?" He had given her his typical smart ass grin, leaning on the door frame.

"I've been doin' this for years Quinn. I have a few places. I'll be back sometime, don't worry about me."

And again, he was gone. Shortly after the four of them had devoured the pizza and the boys had crashed on the couch with a beer Paul had left, with just the vague explanation of where to, leaving the two duffel bags filled with the boy's things. And now hours later, she was still worrying about him, lying in bed unable to sleep. Connor had taken the spare bedroom, and Murphy had decided on the couch, after both brothers had teased and bickered about owing the other for this reason or that reason. Quinn rolled over for the umpteenth time and looked at the clock. Twelve a.m. Six hours before she had to get up. She groaned and rolled over, climbing out of bed. The second night in a row she couldn't sleep.

She felt her way out of the room and to the kitchen, thankful that Murphy hadn't bothered to shut the light over the kitchen sink off. The cat appeared from God only knew where, silently jumping to the counter top and rolling onto its back. She rubbed his head on the way by, reaching up to open one of the cupboards slowly, trying to sneak out a glass to get herself a drink as quietly as possible. The creak of the floor behind her made her jump and spin around, heart hammering in her chest. When she saw it was Murphy, amused smirk on his face, hands held up in mock surrender, in just a black tee shirt and boxers, its rapid beating slowed. A little. He rubbed his face tiredly, stepping forward to rest against the counter top between them.

"Sorry, didn' mean ta scare ye." Quinn set the glass down.

"It's fine… Sorry I woke you up." Murphy shook his head.

"Nah ya didn'. Couldn' sleep. Looks like yer havin' the same problem." Even in the half light she could see the intensity of his gaze, both hands grasping the edge of the kitchen island, his upper body leaned over the counter top, head tipped down, looking up at her with those burning blue eyes. Taking in every inch of her face and body unabashedly, the way her tee shirt hung off her small frame, how her shorts just skimmed an appropriate length for her tanned legs, how her eyes looked black in the shadow of the light, how they met his own and flickered away, only to slowly return. A small smirk crept across his face. She stumbled over words, trying to break the silence.

"Yeah… No I couldn't sleep… I just uh. I wanted to say I'm sorry for today…" _Idiot._ She mentally rolled her eyes. _Why do you bother talking to people. Stick to horses. _

"Ya did aye?" He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to continue.

"Yes. I'm sorry I freaked out at you like that. I know you've been through a lot… I was selfish to think I was the only one who was upset and well… I'm sorry…" The cat provided a welcome distraction as she ran her hand down his back, starting up a deep rumbling purr. Murphy dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Aye. S'alright lass. I'm sorry as well." His voice was soft. "I understan' ya lost yer brother. And me an' Conn don't enjoy bein' passed aroun' like foster kids… I know it's askin' a lot ta stay in yer home, but me an' Connor don't even have one."

Quinn looked up as he stepped toward her, the cat taking its cue to leap off the counter and stalk away, no longer providing an excuse to not make eye contact. His face was soft and apologetic, and she stood completely frozen as he closed the distance between them, reaching out to rest his hand on the side of her face, the tips of his fingers fitting perfectly in the curve of her jaw. Electricity and warmth flowed from his fingertips down through every nerve and fiber of her body, and her pulse roared so loudly in her ears that she swore it echoed through the silent kitchen as she raised her eyes to look at his, questioning and wanting and not sure what or why, as he smiled and stroked his thumb along her cheekbone.

"Better get some sleep, Quinn." And as quickly as it happened it was over, his hand fell back to his side and he gave her a small smile, turning to head back to the other room and his spot on the couch. Quinn let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and tried to calm the heady rush of emotion and lack of oxygen, heading back to her bedroom barely aware of what she was doing, and climbing back into bed before noticing she had gone without even bothering to get that drink of water she had wanted.


	6. Chapter 6

** Ugh! So… my laptop broke for a month. But, I got it fixed for Christmas. Sorry for the long wait! Also… so many new follows! You guys are awesome… Sooo I was thinking I'd recognize the people who reviewed in the story… by naming race horses after you! ;) **

"Connor if you touch that radio one more time…" Quinn's voice was all business as she slapped his hand away from the numbered buttons on the dash of the truck. The MacManus brother in question was currently leaning his whole upper body over the center console, trying to reach the radio from his middle seat in the back. Murphy sat in the passenger's seat, using one arm to try and shove his twin back into his own spot.

"I can't stand this country shite!" Connor whined, trying to pin his brother to the door with one arm and quickly punch a button to change the radio station while Quinn checked her mirror before changing lanes. The morning had gone pretty much just like this, the boys teasing and rough housing the whole way.

She didn't remember sleeping, just staring at the numbers on her clock and realizing the alarm was shrieking a wake-up call. When she had stumbled out into the kitchen the boys were already there, firing up the coffee maker and trying to wake up themselves. Quinn's eyes had met Murphy's for the briefest of seconds and a thrill shot straight up her spine as she remembered just a fraction of the emotions that had run through her hours before as his rough tattooed hand had rested right against her face… She had pushed it away and acted as if nothing had happened, since Murphy seemed to be doing the same. They had all hurriedly showered and headed out the door at Quinn's urging, stopping at Jude's to pile into the truck that was already hitched onto the horse trailer, and were on the highway right on schedule.

The distinctive guitar solo styles of Slash flowed from the speakers and Connor quit wrestling with his brother long enough to crank up the volume.

"Alrigh' now we're talkin'!" He grinned. Quinn turned it down to a level a little less ear splitting, but nodded in approval. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Murphy turned in her direction, that frustrating smirk on his face. Without even looking she spoke.

"What Murphy." He broke out into a broad grin.

"Ya close enough ta that steerin' wheel er what?" Connor snickered from the back.

"Can ya see out the windshield lass, 'r should I get ya a couple phone books?" The brothers howled with laughter and Quinn rolled her eyes, but there was no arguing. Jude's over six foot frame may have easily been able to reach the pedals in the big Chevy, but Quinn had to scoot the seat almost as far forward as it would go to drive comfortably.

"If you don't quit making fun of me so help me I will turn this truck around," she said in the most threatening voice she could manage. The two men looked at her in mock surprise.

"Christ Ma, is that you?" Murphy joked, getting a laugh from the other two. Connor leaned himself into the front of the cab again to snatch the sale booklet off the dash. He settled back into his seat and started flipping through.

"How do ya read this fuckin' thing?" Quinn laughed.

"Well what do you want to know?" Connor flipped to a page and dropped it into her lap. She sighed in exasperation as she tried to grab the bundle of papers, hold the page open, and keep her eyes on the road. She scanned the paper, her gaze flickering between the highway and the sale sheet balanced against the steering wheel.

"Ok so. This is the big summer sale. Jude goes every year and usually brings a few horses back for his owners, or ones that he likes. Every horse that's up for auction is listed in the book. The book shows the horse's auction number which is this one at the top of the page… so in the case 119. This is the horse's name… Gren Gren Alley, the two names under it are the sire and dam, er, the parents… the horse's age, color, and gender, and fastest life time mark. Underneath that is who owns it, where it was bred, the starting bid, and any race history. Got it?" Murphy made a face.

"Where the fuck do they get names fer them?"

"Sometimes they're a combination of the sire and dam's names… Sometimes it's named after the farm where it was bred, and sometimes I have no clue." She glanced at the paper again. "Ah. See, the father's name was Gren Double Time, and the mother was Alley Bee." Murphy snatched the booklet and started to flip through, Connor looking over his shoulder.

"How 'bout… Willycheatumanwhen? Tha's fuckin' awful…" Quinn nodded.

"What are the sire and dam?" Connor traced his finger down the page.

"Ah, ShiverTree Noble an' Comidia Del Arte?"

"Then I have no idea where they got that name… But it is pretty bad. Please tell me no one is bidding on that one…"

"No check!" Murphy grinned, turning the page to her triumphantly. His blue eyes caught hers for the briefest second and his smile became more of a knowing smirk, and it sent her right back to that moment in the kitchen and she could almost feel his touch again, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone… Connor suddenly dove between them to crank up the volume, breaking them out of the memory of the night before. Quinn let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and pinned her eyes to the road as Connor settled back into his seat, singing along to ACDC's "Thunderstruck" so badly that Murphy reached back to cuff him upside the head. When the darker twin finally sat back down in the passenger seat, Quinn could see his amused grin in her direction out of the corner of her eye before he turned to stare silently out the window.

.xxx.

The sale grounds were a well-cared for group of white washed barns with precisely groomed dirt roadways between them, surrounding the biggest building which was the sales ring. Quinn had found a place in the outer parking lot to leave the truck and trailer and she and the boys wandered inside, looking for a seat near the front. The sales ring itself was a small roped off dirt area in front of hundreds of chairs, with the auctioneer's stand just outside the enclosure. A large TV screen mounted on the wall overhead flashed ads for different farms and racing products. Quinn gripped her sale sheet nervously. All around were well dressed men and women who, if they did look at her and the two heavily tattooed men next to her, did so in a barely concealed glance of disdain. These were the some of the local big wigs of thoroughbred racing so to speak. She mentally kicked herself for wearing jeans. Murphy and Connor glanced at each other as Quinn snagged three seats right in front of the sales ring, too preoccupied to with everything around her to even notice when Murphy settled in beside her.

"Friendly crowd," Connor murmured as a group of women walked past, casting downward glances at Quinn's blue denim and leather boots, her curly brown hair loose and undone, so unlike their business casual slacks and dress shirts, and primped updos. Quinn seemed to shrink in her seat and Murphy glared. The girl who had stood up to him the night before was too easily hurt by even the unvoiced opinions of others.

"Yeah," she whispered, staring intently at the sales sheet in front of her. The auctioneer's sudden outburst made all three start, as he bellowed into the microphone.

"GOOD MORNING!" He drawled, holding out the 'good' as though there were more than two o's. "Welcome to the Mid Season Performance Sale. We've got some great stock for you to look at today, so let's start off with page one in your sales book…" The first horse was lead into the ring. The bidding was fast paced and hard to follow, and over before anyone even realized. The horse was lead out, back to the barn to be picked up by new owners later. Four more horses were lead out, and the drill was the same. The auctioneer bellowed out bids and encouragements, the TV screen flashed prices, names of the parents and any outstanding performance history, and members of the crowd raised their hands until they were the only ones left, and the auctioneer yelled out a final "SOLD."

"Next up is hip number 127, a handsome bay colt by Are You Afraid Yet, out of Pitbulls Rok…" Quinn glanced down at the sheet, and her head snapped up to the boys, eyes wide.

"Oh shit… there's a check on this one!" The bidding had already started before she finished her sentence and she sat there frozen, unsure of what to do as numbers were called out. Murphy and Connor stared at her.

"C'mon lass, ya gotta raise yer hand!" Connor encouraged, elbowing Murphy to help him out. Quinn looked around at the different bidders throughout the crowd, feeling smaller by the second as these no-nonsense businessmen casually raised their hands, shelling out thousands of dollars with just a flick of their wrist.

"I, I can't…" she stammered.

Murphy grabbed her arm, pulling it up into the air in a swift motion and let go, leaving it there in midair. Quinn stared at him and at the auctioneer who pointed at her before she realized to bring her arm down. She turned to say something to the darker twin, to be embarrassed but he pointed to the paper and whispered.

"They're on twenty thousan', yer limit's thirty five!" His blue eyes burned into hers, alight with excitement and pushing her to do it, and behind him Connor with the same encouraging look.

"Twenty five, twenty five, can I get twenty five!" The auctioneer bellowed. A man across the way flicked his hand up and the auctioneer pointed, calling out for thirty. There was a pause, and Quinn's hand shot up. The auctioneer nodded at her, calling for thirty five, and Quinn strained to see the man who had been bidding against her. He shook his head.

"Goin' once, goin' twice and SOLD to the little lady in the front!" Connor and Murphy clapped her on the back and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Skeptical glances came from all sides, questioning who exactly this "little lady" was, throwing around a couple thousand.

"Nicely done lil lady," Murphy teased, his hand lingering slightly between her shoulder blades as he grinned at her. She couldn't stop the huge grin that covered her face as she looked down at the sales sheet and wrote out the check. Connor snagged the sales book from her as she finished up the paperwork handed her and the next few horses were brought out. He rifled through the pages, looking for the next clipped check and settled on the page that held it.

"Jaysus they spend a lot o' money on these fuckin' things," he whispered to Murphy. The darker haired twin leaned over to read the page.

"Limit o' eighty grand on that one? Tha's a day's work fer us aye brother?" He grinned. Connor laughed.

"Not anymore brother. Who even has that kinda cash?" he asked, flipping the check up to read the name of the potential buyer.

_Victor Petrova. _

He nudged Murphy. Hard.

"Tha fuck Connor!" Murphy hissed, and Quinn looked at them questioningly before returning to her paperwork. The older twin pointed to the check. Murphy stared.

"Petrova… one o' the mob ya think?" The blond twin nodded in agreement.

"Aye… We'll have to ask Smecker about that one. Best keep quiet fer now, keep yer girl out of it," he said, flipping nonchalantly to the next page. Murphy's head snapped up, one eyebrow raised, about to say something to the effect of "fuck off", before Quinn leaned over, motioning for the sales book.

"Hey, I need that back, I think there's another one coming up that we're bidding on," she grinned excitedly. Connor just grinned back as he handed over the booklet, pointedly ignoring his brother's death glare.

.xxx.

"My arse is _killing_ me," Connor groaned, and Murphy tried to stretch in his seat. Quinn rolled her eyes, but was too excited to actually be annoyed. They had snagged up four of the six horses they had been sent to bid on, each time getting easier and easier to raise her hand and claim a horse, despite all the high class big spenders around her. She stood up.

"You're a pain in the _arse," _she said, mocking the way the blond twin said it in his Irish brogue. He faked a look of hurt and Murphy laughed.

"That was terrible, I hope we don' really soun' like that," Quinn ducked her head from his playful gaze.

"You don't… Alright boys let's go. We gotta load up and head home." The auctioneer was announcing the next horse and Quinn looked up to watch as they slid their way out of the row of chairs. A handler was leading into the ring the most beautiful animal she had ever seen.

She was big, monstrous really for her age and her gender. Her long well-built legs travelled up into a nicely sloped shoulder and powerfully muscled hind end, her neck arched up into a finely sculpted head, with large intelligent eyes and a long tapering face. Every book, every opinion she had heard on perfect conformation seemed to come together to form the horse in front of her, wrapped up in a shining ink black coat. The horse stepped daintily into the ring, away from the handler, stopping to stare out into the crowd, her stance proud and defiant, ears pricked toward the distance, far over the crowd at something only she could hear and see. She was beautiful. Quinn needed her.

"Excuse me!" The snappy voice broke into Quinn's thoughts and she blushed and babbled an apology as she realized she had stopped in the middle of the row of chairs, effectively blocking a business suited man's view. The boys were at the end of the row, staring at her in confusion and she hurried to catch up.

"Just wait, I want to see this one!" She said quickly, standing in the aisle to watch. The boys glanced at each other and shook their heads.

"Can I start at thirty five… hundred, thirty five hundred…" Even the auctioneer seemed shocked at the low price. Quinn glanced around. One hand went up. The TV screen flashed the same information as the book in her hands, but she still looked back and forth between the two. Two year old filly, parents she had hardly ever heard of… one start, disqualified. But there was something about her… Quinn raised her hand.

"Four, can I get forty five hundred," the crowd seemed to buzz. The other hand went up. Why was there only one other person bidding on this horse? Murphy glanced over her shoulder.

"Who put a check on this one?" He asked. Quinn looked at him confused.

"No one…"

"So yer buyin' it?" Connor asked incredulously. The thought that it was a stupid idea, that something must be wrong here, that a horse did not go for this cheap without a good reason did cross Quinn's mind. But there was something else she couldn't place as the horse plodded placidly around the ring, the handler keeping her at a distance. That was strange, the horse wasn't even doing anything dangerous…

A movement caught her eye as a man seated on the end of the row of chairs she stood by leaned toward her. Some of the crowd had turned to look at her.

"Little girl… you don't want that horse," the man smiled. The twins looked at her. She looked at them, at the crowd, at the man who was warning her. Something wasn't right… She raised her hand.

"SOLD. Hip number 225, Wicked Witch, to the little lady in the front for five thousand dollars."

.xxx.

"Ready, go!" Connor yelled, snatching his shot glass off the bar and downing it, his brother and Quinn following suit. Quinn coughed and choked on the strong liquid that burned down her throat, making her gag despite the strong buzz she had going. Murphy and Connor erupted into laughter at her, yet again. She flushed red, from embarrassment or alcohol was anyone's guess.

"Shut up you two… that stuff tastes like shit!"

"Hennessy, lass. It'll put hair on yer chest," Murphy grinned, blue eyes flashing. She giggled and leaned back from the bar. She wasn't sure why she had let the boys convince her to go out. By the time they had got back to the barn, unloaded the horses, and done all the chores that needed to be finished, she was ready for bed. This of course had led to more teasing from the boys about what an old lady she was, going to bed early and not wanting to go out on the town with two handsome men, self-proclaimed as it was. She smiled at the thought. They were handsome. Irritating, but handsome, and hard to say "no" too. Especially Murphy.

He sat next to her now, Connor on her other side, keeping a steady flow of awful tasting shots coming their way and generally laughing and joking with anyone who came in the door. Unfortunately that included any number of attractive young women who wandered in.

"There was a bar like this back 'ome we used to go ta. Back in the city. McGinty's… funniest fuckin' bar tender. Doc McGinty. 'As Tourettes, always yellin' "fuck" an' "ass"." Connor choked out, laughing halfway through the story as he remembered. Quinn grinned at the thought and laughed too, everything was funny and pleasantly warm. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, everything seeming to move a little more slowly. The obnoxious giggling pulled her out of her reverie and her eyes slitted as she turned to look next to her.

Some blond thing with legs a mile long stood next to Murphy, laughing as he made mention of her outfit, a barely there skirt and top that cut low and high in the right places. Quinn looked down at her jeans and lacy layered tank top she had put on. Connor saw her look and slid her yet another drink with a sly grin.

"C'mon now Quinn, don' look so down. Made out fine at yer first sale, bought yerself a nice new 'orse…" She tried to smile, taking a haul off some vodka mix the server had slid down the bar top to her at Connor's motion. She tried to focus on something, anything, but the two flirting beside her when finally the blond girl turned to walk off toward her similarly dressed friends in the corner of the quickly filling room. Murphy's hand gave her a quick smack on the ass, and she turned slightly, blond hair flipping over her shoulder as she gave him a devilish grin and a wink. Murphy grinned himself, turning on his bar stool back to Quinn and his brother.

"Fuckin' hot isn' she?" He slurred at his brother, before his eyes flicked to Quinn's. Anger ripped through her, intensified by the alcohol and his beautiful blue gaze, furious that he made her feel this way about him and too drunk to be able to explain it.

"Fuck you," she practically spat, sliding off the stool and making her way toward the door. Connor looked at his twin and shook his head, his own buzz making it hard to focus, but not to the point he didn't realize his brother's mistake.

"Yer a fuckin' idiot Murph," he rolled his eyes at the darker twin's confused and hurt look, taking another long pull on his beer. Murphy turned and staggered out after Quinn.

She stood just outside the door, searching her small purse for her car keys, cursing when she dropped them to the ground. Another hand snatched them up before she could, and she looked up, face inches from Murphy's.

"Goin' somewhere?" he grinned.

"Yeah. Home." She growled, making a swipe at the keys in his hand. He stepped back.

"Yer not drivin', yer drunk."

"Well you're an asshole."

"Quinn… What's wrong?" He moved towards her, eyes searching her face. She met his gaze, brown eyes searching his, so intense and worried. But the thought of the other girl sent a pang of jealousy and anger searing through her and she spun around, walking away, back toward the door.

"Like you even care. Why don't you go back inside and talk to that 'fuckin' hot' girl, I'll go in and take Connor home." She barely kept her voice from straining and she felt so stupid, the alcohol and all her emotions that she felt for this man who she barely knew, that he could make her feel this self-conscious and vulnerable… A hand gripped her arm firmly and spun her around, putting them face to face, inches from each other, his hands rough and calloused and against her arms, yet so warm.

"Jealous, Quinn?" he murmured, voice so low and husky it sent a chill through her, the sound of her name in his lilting Irish making her brown eyes meet his dark cobalt, pleading, wanting. She broke his gaze, glancing down, the buzz of the liquor making everything pour out before she could stop it.

"Yeah it did make me jealous, but it doesn't even matter, I don't really even know you that well and you're not with me and-" He leaned in closer, one hand slipping from her arm to her chin, dark blue eyes smoldering as he tilted her face up to meet his, their lips brushing for a moment that she swore lasted forever and not nearly long enough all at once, as he pulled away, smiling at her shocked silence.

"Jaysus ye talk too much."


End file.
